Creative Management
by may flyer
Summary: Kyouya should know better than to make out with anyone in the music room.


**Creative Management**

_Author's Note/Disclaimer_: If I owned Ouran, there would be a long and involved plot wherein Renge is appointed Queen of the World. But I don't own Ouran. So.

Tamaki was overwhelmed by sensation. Wire frames prodded into his neck, and an elbow dug into his side, and he wished that he could move his leg back onto the couch because his circulation was cut off… but none of that was important. Not to a relatively inexperienced sixteen year-old boy. Soft lips, nipping teeth, and adventurous hands were more than enough to help Tamaki forget his discomfort.

All that Tamaki cared about was the feel of Kyouya straddling him on one music room's couches.

Then the sound of a high-tech mechanized platform brought Tamaki back to reality. The boys froze. Renge ex Machina had come to interrupt the plot, before it could even begin to near a climax.

"Renge-kun," Kyouya greeted their Manager, impassively. His glasses were not at all askew. His hair was too disciplined to break ranks. Some miracle of starch kept his clothing pristine. Nothing about the Ootori heir suggested that he had, mere seconds ago, bit down on Tamaki's collarbone and then licked it better; nothing except the sweaty, flushed, and rumpled blonde still pinned beneath him.

It wasn't _fair_.

"Kyouya-sama," she bit her lip. The Princess was mightily vexed! Oh horrible, terrible fate, that Tamaki's dalliance could injure a fair lady so! "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have something to tell you. This is all wrong!"

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't _fair_. Tamaki was _beautiful_, wasn't he? He was beautiful and he had a _gift_ - the gift of _making girls happy_. That was his true mission in life. He was a work of art! Every place, every moment, every situation existed to show Tamaki to best advantage! He lived to bring _beauty _and _culture_ into the lives of others! Was that not noble? Was he not a Prince among princely men?

And now it was all going to _end_. Cut down, in the spring of his youth! The cherry blossom of beauty would wilt too soon! Tamaki did not need to look into Renge's wide doe-eyes, to know that they held his _death_.

Mourn, world! Aphrodite has abandoned Narcissius to his bloody fate!

"Renge-kun," Kyouya's mouth tightened into a disapproving line.

Why, _why_ could Kyouya not take Takmaki's death seriously? Tamaki was sure that the others would be shattered. Shattered! He could see dear little Haruhi now, in a cute black dress, placing lilies on Tamaki's grave. The sky would weep for his passing from the world. And oh – was that an exquisite tear on her cheek? If only Haruhi's awakening into maidenhood was not marred by such tragedy! Fear not, Haruhi – the Daddy's spirit would remember your beauty even into the next life!

Tamaki squeezed his eyes shut, and braced for Renge's impact. This would be terrible. He hated to see a girl cry.

"Kyouya-sama!" Renge interrupted Tamaki's reverie. Her voice was noteably steady. This was the same tone that she used to deal with the twins' poor hair-dyeing choices. "Kyouya-sama, I know that you strive for perfection in all things! You work hard to make all of your ventures a success! That's why I know you can't be blamed for how poorly your latest venture has turned out. With this King of Fools around, it's no wonder that you need my guidance."

…

…

… what?

The boys stared. Renge flicked a switch, and light flared in the darkened room. She had brought a projector. With Power Point.

"Your position is both uncomfortable and aesthetically mediocre," Renge took a laser pointer out of her pocket. "Kyouya-sama, if you'll turn your attention to this image from last months' _Boys Be_, you'll see how a simple alteration in posture would free up your left arm to undo Suou-kun's shirt."

Kyouya, to Tamaki's horror, had retrieved his clipboard from somewhere. He was _taking notes_.

"Renge-kun?" Tamaki was attempting to wriggle his way off the couch, and back into a universe that made sense; a universe that was _kind_ to well-intentioned young men with the souls of poets. "Kyouya-kun? I..."

Kyouya tightened his thighs and shifted his weight, holding Tamaki in place by the hips.

_Um._

"Quiet, phony Prince! Kyouya-sama and I have important managerial work to discuss. If you move, we'll have to re-do all of our plans! Don't waste Kyouya-sama's valuable time."

Tamaki hardly needed Renge's input. He was too busy turning red and losing control of his motor functions. Kyouya patted Tamaki's shoulder, reassuringly. Tamaki whimpered.

"President, please hear Renge-kun out," said Kyouya. Then he returned his attention to Renge. Smiling. "Renge-kun has increased merchandise quality as manager of this club. She is a valuable creative consultant."

The parade of lewd manga images progressed at a businesslike pace. Renge bent forward to whisper something to Kyouya. They conversed in hushed tones. Every once in a while, when Tamaki remembered to think, he made out phrases like 'logistically tenable'. Every once in a while, Renge shot Tamaki a speculative look, and grinned that dreamy girl-grin that usually had no basis in reality. At one point she took a tape measure to his legs.

It was going to be a long night for the King.


End file.
